I’ve been lucky enough to have some glorious beach days recently, plus a decent streak of meditation and exercise—but all that R&R hasn’t quite been enough to keep the growing jitters at bay.
We’re six weeks out from leaving the U.S. again to start our brand new life afloat—a transition five years in the making. Thanks to a Covid pivot and the choice to go all-in on a new boat, my husband and I haven’t lived in a ‘permanent’ home since 2020. I’m endlessly grateful to the family members who’ve shared their homes with us, but I’ll admit: I’ve been aching for my own space.
Do you know how on a long drive you can have to pee for hours without difficulty but then you finally get to the Starbucks bathroom and there are two people in line and suddenly you don’t think you can survive another 20 seconds? That’s kind of where I am with kicking off this new sailing adventure.
Mostly, I’m good. No worries. On top of things. Full of adventurous spirit and flexibility. And then every once in a while, I lose my sh*t. The most recent example? After a ridiculously long quest for the perfect settee pillows for the boat (yep, nesting instincts in overdrive), when they arrived, one was missing.
Oh, so sorry, Cheyenne, said the website. That one’s out of stock. Forever. The new season will bring different pillows, and therefore you will never, ever be able to find exactly the right one to complement the others you’ve built your entire foundation of future happiness around. Therefore, you’ll always be miserable, and it’s your own damn fault because who are you to deserve your dream boat, anyway?
Okay, maybe I was reading between the lines there. But for about five minutes I was in existential survival mode over… a pillow. And if that’s not irony enough for you, the specific one I was missing was the bird of peace design.
Nearly hyperventilating, I called the store. Luckily, the man on the phone didn’t call me an entitled brat. Nor did he say: for heaven’s sakes lady, get a grip. Instead, he found the last bird of peace in the warehouse and shipped it to me. And therefore, I don’t have to be miserable for the rest of my life.
So, yeah. That. Not my proudest moment.
Adventure is exciting, but there’s no doubt it’s also anxiety-inducing. As we all know, courage isn’t the absence of fear. It’s feeling fear and going forward anyway. And if that brief episode didn’t convince you I’m feeling the fear, then I’m not sure what would.
Meanwhile, the writing desk isn’t much calmer. I’m still in Act I of our next novel (Ellen and Perk belong to you as much as to me), and the process feels less like a steady climb than a game of Chutes & Ladders. Just when I think “Yay! What a great chapter!” I wake up the next day, see all the problems with it, and slide right back to the beginning. Draft. Toss. Draft again. Move sideways. Circle back. And that’s with an outline.
It’s maddening. But it’s also magical.
Because somewhere in all that sliding and scrambling, the pile of words will suddenly feel like a story. I can never predict quite how it will go or when, but one day I’ll look up and instead of a pile of pages I’ll think: “Ah, there you are! I see you now, book.”
That moment never gets old, even if the path to it is far from straight—just like any grand adventure.
Thanks for sailing along with me.
Fair winds,
Cheyenne
P.S. A few snaps from the past month. The pillow collection that is the foundation of all my future happiness (kidding) the surprise bunny from my morning run—a reminder of what truly makes me happy. Plus the current state of the boat (not quite ready for décor).
